


With Perfect Clarity

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-24
Updated: 2007-04-24
Packaged: 2018-09-03 20:37:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8729218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: "This isn't what Sam wants, it never is, but it's all Dean can give him, and it has to be enough."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Title** \- With Perfect Clarity  
**Pairing** \- Sam/Dean  
**Rating** \- NC17  
**Spoilers** \- slight ones for Heart  
**Word Count** \- ~900  
  
  
  
  
  
_**With Perfect Clarity**_  
  
  
  
Dean stops at a gas station just outside of San Francisco. He fills up the tank of the Impala, buys a pack of beef jerky and a bottle of Pepsi, and lets Sam jerk him off in the dirty men's room, the heel of his boot pressed hard against the door.   
  
Sam's hands are rough. His breath is wet and sour, head tipped down, hair tickling Dean's cheek and chin. He presses one hand against Dean's throat - just hard enough to hurt - and the other he shoves down the front of Dean's jeans, fingers curling tight, bringing him off with a few sharp tugs of fist.   
  
Dean closes his eyes. This isn't what Sam wants, it never is, but it's all Dean can give him, and it has to be enough.   
  
*  
  
They go three hundred miles without another stop. When the sun starts to rise Dean looks into the passenger seat and finds Sam sleeping with his head against the window. He's snoring with his mouth open, lips dry and cracked. Dean wants to touch him but he stops himself, looks back at the road.   
  
*  
  
They leave California behind, nothing but a reflection of blood and fire glinting in the Impala's rear view mirror. Dean tells himself that he's crazy, but he breathes better when they've crossed the state line. When Sam wakes up he looks around, watches the road signs, and breathes again too.   
  
"Next motel I pass I'm gonna stop," Dean says. His voice is scratchy. He thinks he hasn't talked in a few days.   
  
Sam nods. "Yeah. Okay," he says, and doesn't speak again for another forty miles.   
  
*  
  
They stop at the Makeshift Inn. Dean leaves Sam in the car when he gets them a room and doesn't blink when he tells the pimply-faced kid behind the counter that he wants a single with a king-sized bed.   
  
When they open the door Sam looks at the bed, looks at Dean and doesn't blink either.   
  
*  
  
Sam's skin is hot and smooth. He tastes like smoke and fire, like dirt and earth and ashes. Dean shoves him onto the bed and crawls up after him, latching his teeth into the dip of Sam's neck and shoulder.   
  
Sam goes to touch him, and Dean presses his hands back, pins them over Sam's head with one of his own.   
  
He meets Sam's eye, and breathes: "No."  
  
Sam opens his mouth, and Dean dips his head and kisses him. He keeps his hand just tight enough on Sam's wrists to keep him in place. Sam could move Dean if he really wanted to. Instead he shakes under Dean's hands and kisses him back. It's almost everything Dean wants.   
  
*  
  
The things they shouldn't have and shouldn't need seep in over time. They press in at the seams, bleeding in little by little, clouding the idea of what's good and right and normal with the hard press of fingers, the sharp sting of teeth.   
  
Dean spreads Sam out underneath him. Presses his knee up and out. Runs his tongue over the hair on the inside of Sam's thigh. Sam's face and chest flush pink and gold, his eyes blown wide, his mouth parted and wet.   
  
Sam never wanted this. He wanted more, wanted something different, but time after time it winds up that this is the only thing he can have. Dean's hands curving over the muscles in Sam's arms, tracing down his sides, curling around his cock, jerking him off a little too rough, too slow, too steady to let Sam come until Dean wants him to.   
  
"This okay?" Dean asks. Sam clutches at Dean's shoulders and arms. He twists his fingers in Dean's hair and pulls him down until his mouth is in Sam's groin, lips touching the length of his cock.   
  
"Yeah. Just fucking do it," Sam says just before he comes in Dean's mouth.   
  
*  
  
Day bleeds into night. Dean counts the passing time by the number of bruises Sam sucks into his hips and thighs. He sucks Dean off, tongues his balls, flips him over and licks down his back, fingers pressing in, holding Dean open while he fucks him wide with his mouth.   
  
Dean lets Sam's hands hold him down. Lets Sam hold him where he wants because everything else Sam tries to hold on to disappears.   
  
*  
  
Sam sleeps; his breathing deep and even. He's curled into Dean's side, one arm over Dean's chest, sweat slicking their skin together where they touch.   
  
Outside, cars pass on the highway. Their lights shine through the motel curtains as the night drags on.   
  
Dean thinks about how tomorrow they'll be back on the road. Back to being just them, their own version of normal. Sam looking for something he can never have, and Dean standing there watching him do it.   
  
He pulls Sam closer and doesn't sleep.  
  
  
-end-


End file.
